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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25265146">Homeward Bound</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableTrajectory/pseuds/IneffableTrajectory'>IneffableTrajectory</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Broadchurch</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blow Jobs, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:15:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>925</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25265146</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableTrajectory/pseuds/IneffableTrajectory</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>And so here he lay, the last vestiges of daylight yielding to the silver moon as it began its slow, heavenly ascent, listening to Hardy's quiet, even breathing.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Paul Coates &amp; Alec Hardy, Paul Coates/Alec Hardy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Homeward Bound</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>You guys, I finally did it!! I wrote something!! And no one dies or fights or loses any limbs!!  I hope you enjoy reading the fluff as much as I enjoyed writing it!! 😭</p><p>(Also, I didn't edit this for 💩, so pardon any and all typos.  They're a product of laziness and excitement at finally creating some content.)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was official. As he dozed, lazily stroking his sleeping partner's hair, he determined that the best part of Hardy's little blue shack on the inlet, save for the tenant of said shack himself, was the constant noise. </p><p>The chatter of shorebirds, the shouts of the fisherman, the way the water seemed to sing a tune as it lapped at the moorings; Even the bells heralding the arrival of vessels as they returned to the port with their daily catches had a way of lulling Paul to sleep.</p><p>And so here he lay, the last vestiges of daylight yielding to the silver moon as it began its slow, heavenly ascent, listening to Hardy's quiet, even breathing. For once, he didn't feel jealous at the other man's ability to fall asleep seemingly on command. He smiled as he heard the herring gulls bickering over the best lodging for the night, pulled the quilt up a little higher over Hardy and then gently kissed his head.</p><p>Paul never would've guessed when they first met that Hardy would be the one to seek out physical touch and though he was still reticent about it during the day, he turned into a different man at night. When he was was bone weary from his time spent saving their little corner of the world, when he needed confirmation that he wasn't alone any more, he would let his guard down for Paul.</p><p>He reminded him of a cat in that manner; selecting in his affections, but when he claimed you, he went all in. He would subconsciously rub his face against Paul's arm, self-soothing as the other man tried to read some nights, then all but purr as he finally felt Paul yield and scratch his scalp, or his beard. Paul knew that he secretly loved it when he'd gently scratch the soft hair that covered his abdomen and descended into his trousers. Paul secretly loved that 99% of the time, he could get Hardy to fall asleep using that trick and that it somehow never led to anything more. Just gentle, intimate affection between two people.</p><p>It also seemed that no matter how Hardy started out, he always ended up draped across Paul, long limbed and lanky, the perfect dead-weight to soothe all of Paul's anxieties away. He often wondered if it was normal to love another human being so much; to love the way their name felt as it danced on your tongue behind your teeth. To love the way their skin smelled like cedar but tasted like the sea and honey and lemon tea. To positively ache all over when they weren't together. </p><p>Sometimes, when too much time had passed between date nights, or when Hardy hadn't reiterated the standing invitation to stay the night at his, Paul would wonder if Hardy felt the same. If he was as head over heels for Paul as Paul was for him. If he thought of him on lunch, and in the lift, or walking down the hallways of the station. And then he would inevitably spiral and mope and convince himself that there was no way a man like Hardy could ever possibly love him like that. </p><p>And then Hardy, as if on cue, would book a three day weekend off work and spend entire days lavishing his affections on Paul. Most nights he would cook, then they would have a meal and talk to eachother, no phones, no work, no distractions. Then he'd rub Paul's shoulders as they watched a film, then lead him into the bathroom where he would read while Paul had a soak in the tub. </p><p>Sometimes, after he'd dried off and brushed his teeth, he'd be so overcome with his love for this sweet, caring man that he had no choice but to pull him close and kiss him fiercely, trying in vain to pour all of his love into Hardy through lips and tongue and breath. Sometimes, Hardy would give in and let himself be doted on but other times, like the evening they'd just shared, Hardy would pull back and slow them both down. </p><p>He held Paul and whispered soothing words against his neck and shoulder, stayed his hips from rutting with his strong, slender hands and then gently guided him backwards to the little bed they'd now shared so often. Then, he laid Paul down on the well worn duvet, settled himself between his bent knees and brought him to completion with such slow and thorough tenderness that Paul had genuinely wept as he came. Hardy then gathered him into his arms and held him, rocking and shushing and wiping Paul's tears away with his sleeve.</p><p>Later, when Hardy had gotten up to brush his own teeth, Paul hadn't even realized he'd drifted off until Hardy reappeared at his bedside with tea and biscuits. And so they sat in companionable silence, sipping tea and munching on biscuits, neither one wanting to break the spell that had somehow fallen over the little hut. </p><p>Now, with cups cleared, biscuits finished and Hardy soundly sleeping, Paul knew. It all came flooding back in just like it always did. No matter how much time was spent apart, or how many words were seemingly left unsaid, this was it. Hardy was his. He was Hardy's. And in this little, insignificant corner of the world, where terns cried overhead, and klaxons called out from the harbor, he was home.</p><p>In the arms of this man, in his little blue shack, in a noisy inlet in Dorset. </p><p>Home.</p>
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